


If, For a Moment, Together At The Hog's Head

by babygray



Series: Sweet Afton [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Harry uses a pseudonym, M/M, asshole Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-05 14:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3122975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babygray/pseuds/babygray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus might not remember him. He certainly doesn't know his real name. But if, for a moment, they can be together, then maybe that's enough.</p>
<p>Short companion piece to "Sweet Afton", which takes place in the years between what happened to Harry and what will happened to Snape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If, For a Moment, Together At The Hog's Head

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: This wasn't beta'ed.
> 
> I have a little trouble trying to think of what this is, exactly, other than a quick sketch of Severus and Harry's relationship while Harry is under the "forget me" spell (clever name, that) cast on him in "Sweet Afton".

Severus ran the pad of his forefinger round the rim of his glass. The Hog’s Head on a Friday night was surprisingly quiet. He could count the punters on one hand. A hag sat by the hearth, her spindly fingers curled around a pint, while a group of day labourers too good for the Three Broomsticks stared deeply into their drinks.

Severus tugged at the collar of his cloak, covering his right cheek against the cold draft blowing in from a gap in the windows. The old man behind the counter glanced up from the dirty glass he was cleaning, looked up at the clock about the mantle, and went back to cleaning the glass. It was nearly half-past nine.

The firewhisky burned on the way down. Severus reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes, picking at the edges of the yellow box but never quite pulling one out. The draft blew over his knuckles. He longed for his warm bed up in the castle, but something kept him him here, waiting. He placed a cigarette between his lips. Fifteen more minutes, he swore. Then he was off to bed.

"Is this seat taken?"

Severus looked up from his two fingers of firewhisky, his unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, and felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise. For a moment, he thought he was staring at James Potter's ghost, but the feeling passed as he took in the shabby-looking man leaning against the table.

The man gave Severus a tentative smile. Yes, he had Potter’s face, if Potter had been a gaunt, green-eyed man. His threadbare clothes were a size or two too large for him, and his long, shaggy hair had grown long past his ears. A gray sweatband covered his forehead. There was a hopeful look in the man’s eyes as he held a mug of butterbeer with both hands and gestured at the empty chair with his head.

Severus leaned back, taking the cigarette out of his mouth to let dangle between his fingers instead. His eyes narrowed. "Who's asking?"

"Um, David?" the man said. He pulled the chair out and sat, resting his elbows on his thighs and leaning forward into Severus’s personal space. "We've exchanged letters recently?"

Severus did not remember corresponding with a "David". He leaned back and glared at the man. "About?"

"Lately? Antidotes." The man leaned back in his chair and drank deeply from his mug. Most of the foam clung to his unshaven face. He wiped the mess clean with the sleeve of his faded jumper. His knee bounced to a nervous rhythm. “But your advice wasn't exactly what I was hoping for."

"And what was that?"

David grinned as if he was about to share a favorite joke. “’Shove a bezoar down their throats'."

Severus looked into his glass. "Sounds like something I would say."

David's grin widened. The corners of his eyes crinkled.  

 

* * *

 

“Severus,” the old man said as Severus slid onto a stool at the bar.

Severus froze before shifting in his seat. “Aberforth,” he said, eyeing the barkeep as he set a glass in front of Severus and started to pour out a finger’s worth of whisky.

“Been seeing a lot of you lately.” Aberforth nudged the glass towards Severus.

“Once every few weeks is hardly a lot.” Severus wetted his lips. The firewhisky made them tingle.

“More than what I'm used to from you.”

Severus took a proper sip. He licked his lips. “It’s the smell of goat piss that always brings me back.”

“You always had discerning taste,” Aberforth drawled. He set the bottle aside and leaned against the counter. “Listen. I have nothing but the deepest contempt for you—“

Severus raised his glass and his eyebrow to the man before finishing off his drink.

“—But that man you’re seeing? I don’t trust him.”

Severus froze, his hand around the neck of the whisky bottle. “What man?”

Aberforth gave Severus a dirty look, one eye widening while the other squinted, that made him look very much like his older brother, Albus.

“You know exactly who I’m talking about, but if you want to pretend that nothing’s wrong, that’s on you.” He tugged the bottle out of Severus’ hand and poured out some more before putting it back under the counter. “There’s something not right about him.”

The door creaked open, letting in a blast of winter air, and a man rushed in from the cold. His cheeks were burned red from the wind and there was a wild, bright look in his eyes as he stomped the snow off his boots and lumbered over to the meager fire.

Aberforth nodded his head towards the newcomer and stared wide-eyed at Severus. Severus rolled his eyes and sipped his whisky.

“It’s horrid out there,” the man said lightly, unwrapping the scarf from around his neck. He plopped onto a stool one seat down from Severus. “Butterbeer, please.” He left the scarf dangling from his neck and tugged his mittens off. “Professor,” he greeted Severus with a smile.

Severus stared, transfixed by the man’s bright green eyes. They were so much like Lily’s, only there was a warm softness in the stranger’s gaze that Severus could not remember ever seeing in hers. The man undid the first three buttons of his coat and rubbed his bare palms against his cheeks. He kept his lumpy knitted cap pulled low over his forehead.

Aberforth poured out a pint of butterbeer, his lips thin and tight. The man ignored him and stared doe-eyed at Severus. The curve of the man’s smile was gentle.

Severus’s whole face lengthened as he frowned. “Do I know you?”

“Probably not,” the man said with a shrug. “I’m not exactly memorable.” He thrust his hand out. “David.”

Severus stared at the hand. There were ink stains on the side of the man’s forefinger and burns on the tip of his thumb. “Severus,” he found himself saying, taking the man’s hand. David’s grip was strong and sure. His grin grew wide.

 

* * *

 

Severus sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the cracks in the wall. He wrung his hands, the dry skin rasping against itself. He could hear birdsong and the sound of David making himself comfortable underneath the covers. There was a hideously large rodent hole in the corner by the door. He stared down at his hands.

“I’ve never,” he said. There was dirt under his fingernails. He tried again. “I’ve never done this with a man.” The words tasted false on his tongue, but he could not pinpoint the reason why. He glanced over his shoulder.

David lay on his side, his head propped up by his elbow and his free hand spread out on the rough sheets. There was a hint of muscle curving the white skin of his arm and peeking out from underneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. The warm smile he wore faltered. “We don’t have to do anything,” he said. He tugged at his freshly shorn hair, tugging the centimeter-short strands over his smooth forehead.

Severus stared at David’s red-stained fingers, at his clean-shaven jawline, at the darken skin around his eyes.

David gave him a hesitant smile. He sat up and half-crawled, half-dragged himself closer. His dark boxers rode up his thighs as he sat on the edge of the bed beside him, one bare foot on the floor and his body angled towards Severus.

He touched Severus’s shoulder with his fingertips. He leaned forward, mouth first, and kissed Severus’s jaw.

Severus’s heart started to race. He glanced at David from the corner of his eye. “Are you always this—“

“Impudent?” David said. “Audacious?”

“Foolhardy.” Severus turned his head, scraping his cheek against David’s lips.

The inside of David’s mouth tasted of warm butterbeer. David’s hand slid against the nape of Severus’s neck. His stomach twitched against Severus’s hand.

David’s hands were strong, sure as they slid over Severus’s clothes. “Is this alright?” he said when Severus pulled away for a bit of air.

“It’s fine.” Severus ran his thumb over David’s forehead, feeling an invisible line of jagged scar tissue.

David clasped Severus’s hand and brought it to rest against his knee before kissing him again.

 

* * *

 

“School starts tomorrow,” David said afterwards, one of Severus’s cigarettes held between his fingers.

Severus grunted and took another drag of his own. This might be his last time between now and Christmas that he would be able to enjoy this: the heat of another’s person’s body against his, the smoky buzz that tickled the edges of his mind. He leaned his head back against the wall and blew the smoke up towards the ceiling.

“Harry Potter’s going to Hogwarts tomorrow,” David continued, his voice small.

Severus groaned. “Please don’t. I’ve heard enough about that boy already. Hagrid's spent the last month talking my ear off about “poor little Harry” and how dreadful his life must be.” Severus flicked the ash off his cigarette onto the floor. “I couldn’t give two shits.”

David lowered his head and pursed his lips at that. He stared at the red tip of his cigarette as it burned itself away.

Severus rolled his eyes. “Oh god, you’re one of those people, aren’t you? One of his fans?” He took another drag. “I should have know.” He breathed out the smoke. “That scar alone is a dead giveaway.”

David fingered the scar on his forehead. “I’m not his fan,” he said. “It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to him.”

“It might.”

David’s head whipped fast. For a moment, Severus saw too much of Lily Evans in his eyes. Too much of her anger and hatred. “You’ll never change, will you?” he said. “You’ll always hate him.”

“Do you think I should be like the rest of you fools?” Severus snapped back. “Groveling at his feet? He did nothing except _live_ and Lily—“ His voice cracked. He turned away from David, from his green eyes that are too similar to hers, and smoked the rest of his cigarette.

David exhaled. He grounded his cigarette out against the bed frame. “I can’t believe so much time as passed already.” He leaned back against the headboard. “Nine years?”

“More like ten,” Severus said.

David closed his eyes, a weak smile on his face. “Ten. Right.” Severus watched his face, waiting. David licked his lips. “Would you at least promise me?” He sucked in a breath. “That you won’t…that you’d give him a chance?” His eyes were soft, pleading. “If only for his mother’s sake.”

Severus frowned before flicking the butt of his cigarette towards the cold fireplace. He turned over onto his side and dragged the sheets over his head. He could feel David’s heavy gaze.

The bed wobbled as David rose to his feet. Severus shut his eyes and listened as David dressed in the dark.

Severus did not turn to tell him to stop when he sat on the bed to pull on his shoes. He did not reach out to grab David’s arm as he walked to the door. He only scowled and tucked his chin against his chest, listening as David shut the door behind him.

Severus didn’t have to explain himself to a stranger. He stared up at the canopy, waiting for sleep to overtake him, and watched as the sunlight slowly crept in.

 

* * *

 

Severus gave Aberforth a weak nod as the older man served him some watered-down firewhisky. A group of seventh years stormed into the Hog’s Head, all loud voices and snapping attitudes, only to freeze at the sight of their greasy, evil professor sitting at the bar. The group turned around as one and walked back out into the cold.

“Is there a reason you’re here, driving away decent business?”

“You don’t need their business,” Severus said. He drank all the whisky in one go. He could barely feel the burn. “I hate Hogsmeade weekends.” He pushed the glass towards Aberforth. “I hate the kids. I hate the noise. All I wanted was one day away from those imbeciles, but no.” He slapped a hand on the counter. “It’s my turn to supervise the children.” He glared up at Aberforth. “I hate your brother.”

“One wonders how you became a teacher.” Aberforth poured him another glass.

Severus knocked it back before shooting Aberforth another glare. “I hate you, too. When did your drinks become so weak?”

“When I thought children would come in and pretend they were of age.” He shuffled away, dragging his dirty rag over the counter and taking the whisky bottle with him, the bastard.

Severus rubbed a finger along the side of the glass. He closed his eyes against the sudden wave of melancholy threatening to overwhelm him.

“Do you mind if I join you?” a shaggy-haired man said, gesturing to the seat next to Severus.

“I most certainly do,” Severus said even as the man sat down. He looked around the empty pub before glaring at the stranger. “Why don't you go and sit literally anywhere else?”

The man signaled for Aberforth. “Butterbeer, please.” The old man gave the stranger a dark look even as he filled the order. “I could," he said to Severus, "but you looked lonely.” There was a dull sheen to the man’s green eyes.

“You must be desperate for company,” Severus said.

The corners of the man’s smile did not reach his eyes. He wrapped his hands around his mug of butterbeer. “I think I am,” he murmured. He raised his glass to Aberforth and drank. He wiped the foam away with a ink-stained hand.

Severus sipped his whisky and let the silence settle between them.

- _The End_ -


End file.
